


the future is decided by choices, and a choice, you make now

by CelesteArius



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:38:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14362218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteArius/pseuds/CelesteArius
Summary: Empress Jessamine Kaldwin knows she has died. She has died and should be lost into Nothing. But regardless, she is here, standing in a disjointed reality over her own dead body, within a place where time holds no meaning. But a man with the body of a shadow and eyes like coal greet her, offering her an alternative.





	the future is decided by choices, and a choice, you make now

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction in a year and of course it's Dishonored related. I just recently played Death of the Outsider and it renewed my obsessive fascination and love for this universe. So here, have my own headcanons thrown at you.

Even through the shock and pain of it all, Jessamine Kaldwin was well aware that she had died. The knowledge of it sunk deep into her bones, and the wail of sorrow and anger within her mind echoed like an endless call.

She didn’t know where she was now, however. The gazebo and its white stone was all around her, her own dead body and red blood at her feet. It sickened her to look at, but beyond this, her connection to the events of the world was gone. The white stone of the gazebo broke away, the world become grey, black nothingness. It was cold, smelled of harsh salt and oil. She hears the distant call of whale-song.

There’s a shifting within the shadows, in the cold around her, and then, suddenly, she is no longer alone.

“Empress Jessamine Kaldwin.” The voice echoes within her, around her, not just reaching her ears. A man is now with her, her body between the both of them. His hands are clasped behind his back, which is what faces her. Aside from his skin – as stark as the stone of the ground – and the glinting silver rings on his fingers, his body seems to have been created from the shadows themselves.

“Who are you?” is her first question. Her own voice sounds distant, as if it doesn’t come out of her own mouth, despite her being aware of its movement. “Where are we?”

This strange man faces her. His face is gaunt, skin an unnatural alabaster, eyes entirely black and seemingly bruised around their edges. It sends a shiver down her spine. “All good questions, ones that will be revealed in time,” he says slowly. “You are aware of who I am, despite the work of your Abbey.”

She does know. She is aware of him, the echoes of his name in the darkness, among witches and cultists desperate for forbidden knowledge. “The Outsider.” The awareness causes her to take a step away.

He doesn’t respond in any physical way. “The Siren of Dreams, one who channels the twisted magic of Leviathan.” The whales moan in the distance, as if responding to his reference to them. “But I mean no ill will. I don’t strive for chaos. I merely observe, and sometimes, become interested.”

“Interested?” she echoes, glancing briefly between him and her dead body. “How is my death something you would be interested in?”

“It isn’t your death, per say,” he says, and in the middle of his own sentence, his body shifts and breaks apart in dark shards and smoke, reassembling itself beside her faster than she could process, without interrupting his own words. “It’s what comes after. There are countless possibilities, and I’m able to see all of them unfolding before me, each just as likely as the other.”

“What possibilities? How many?” Her fear for her daughter, for her love, her Royal Protector, takes precedence over all else. “What will happen to them? To Emily? To Corvo?” These questions are asked desperately, in a single huff of breath.

Despite the desperation of her questions, his answers come as slowly as before. “In some eventualities, they both survive. And in some of those, they are able to be happy, relatively unchanged by the trauma they face. In others, their lives are twisted by violence and the reign of the next Empress is characterized by blood and fear.” Her stomach sinks. He moves again, from the right of her to the left. She’s unsure what this signifies, or what kind of habit it is that he has. “In other eventualities, they both die and Dunwall is plunged into chaotic ruin. In some, one dies, and the other must live with the weight of loss.”

“Which one will happen?” she asks, and his black gaze drifts away from her, out to the endless dark abyss. “Tell me! Outsider!” She steps towards him, reaching for his wrist where he’s twisting one of the many rings around his thin fingers. He disappears before she can make contact, and the smell of the sea and the cold of winter waves is all that’s left behind.

“I don’t know,” he answers from behind her now, entirely unphased by her desperation. “These potential futures are entirely decided by the choices they make. And by the choices you make.”

“My choices…?”

“You’re only here now through my influence.” He makes a sweeping gesture towards her body, limp and bloody on the stone floor. “Your soul should have been lost to the Nothing, becoming unaware of your end and the eternity afterwards. I am here to have you make your own choice, Jessamine Kaldwin, one that will affect the future that faces your daughter and your dear Corvo Attano.”

“…how? What choice?”

“Your Corvo will be facing difficult months,” he begins, hands now once again behind his back. He paces slowly, across the broken edges of stone. “Framed for your murder, he will spend long, dark hours within Coldridge prison, at the mercy of twisted men, attempting to draw from him a false confession they will never receive. Regardless of your choice, or his own, this future does not change.”

“Can’t you do _something_?” she pleads.

“My interference now would break the possibilities that end well for them both,” he answers, and then he moves on. “I can give the powers of the Void to others, allow them to draw from its energy when they accept and are blessed with my mark. At the end of Corvo’s time in Coldridge prison, I will present him with this option: to obtain my power, or to go without it. And, depending on the choice you make now, I will bestow upon him something else.”

“And that something else will only be given to him if I choose one of the options you’re soon to give me.” It was easy to deduce. He doesn’t seem impressed by her perception.

“Your soul, as it is now, can be bound to a physical object, and you can become an interpreter of the mortal world, and the things beyond it,” he tells her, his focus now solely on her. It’s slightly unnerving, to have those eyes boring into her. “Of course, you will be a mere shadow of yourself, your awareness minimal, but you will be able to provide guidance upon being prompted.”

“I would provide guidance, then, for Corvo,” she surmises, and he hums. She doesn’t know if its him or the whale call that causes the ground to quiver.

“You will lead him towards the precipice of action, provide him with knowledge that will assist him in making the most difficult decisions of his life, up until this point.” He says this with insinuations that aren’t really there. She is only imagining the worrisome tone of voice. The knowledge that Corvo will be facing these trials, all of the upcoming pain and suffering he will go through, causes her anxiety. An acute worry that makes her bite down on her own lip.

“He will know that it is me?” she asks.

“He will.”

“Will it cause him pain?”

The Outsider, this dark and cold god of the Void, seems to be pondering her question. Maybe it was because he didn’t understand the complexities of the heart. Maybe it was because he was looking into the vast multitude of future possibilities to find the answer. “Your voice will bring him bittersweet sorrow. Like salt in an open wound. But it will be a solid reassurance in the hostile, dark world that is to face him.”

“And my daughter? Will she know?”

“Depending on the path they take, she will either remain unaware entirely, or she will rely on you for the same guidance you would give to Corvo.” There is a silence after his words, echoing in her ears, and the white stone gazebo cracks around her. “The time for you to make your decision is here, Jessamine Kaldwin.” His body breaks like the stone, and then he is beside her, his left shoulder a handful of inches from her right side. She can feel the aching cold that comes off of him. “Will you allow your soul to be bound to a physical object, to remain in a limbo between the Void and the mortal world, giving knowledge, pain and solace to your Royal Protector? Or do you want to conform to the routine, and take the eternal rest that has been offered to you?”

The answer is clear. It’s evident and has been from the start. Maybe the Outsider had always anticipated her response to be this. Maybe, in every possible future, her answer was always the same. “The former, of course,” she says. The cold from him is burning her bones, but she doesn’t dare recoil or flinch away. “If I can help him, if I can guide him and help my daughter, I would take that possibility above all else.” Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees the Outsider smirk. It may be her imagination. It seems a lot of things have been whim to her imagination. “Outsider?”

He hums once more, and she’s aware that the stone ground seems to have receded. Maybe this place, maybe she herself is running out of time. “I’m well aware of your influence on people. Well aware of how they drive themselves insane, ruin their own lives, in pursuit of your attention, your power.” She sends him a steely gaze. He meets it evenly. “If you dare attempt to corrupt my daughter in such a way…” She trails off, unsure of what kind of threat she could conjure. He does smirk now, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges, narrowing at her.

“In all of her possibilities, Emily Kaldwin will face many chances at corruption,” the Outsider tells her. He walks out of her peripheral. She turns to follow his motion. “Some will be at the hands of people she thinks she can trust, others who try to manipulate her hand in order to obtain the things they want. In all of her futures, however, none of this corruption will be because of me.”

“And how can I know that you’re telling the truth?”

“I suppose there is no way to know for sure,” he admits, regarding the endless, twisting distance of the Void beyond them. “There are many times when it is impossible to know if one is being lied to, or if the truth is being told. You ought to know this very well, Empress.” There’s a sharp sting in her heart at his words. “Regardless, you have my word, for what it is worth.”

_The word of the Outsider,_ she ponders as she looks upon him, at his image of the arcane and his aura of dark magic. _For what it is worth. But it is all I can trust._

The Outsider extends his hand, his pale palm and silver rings. This is their contract, she is aware. Nowhere in writing, purely verbal, and sealed with a handshake. It will seal her fate – not to be alive, but not to receive the gift of death. Truly, stuck in limbo. She wonders as to the future of her beloved Corvo, at her precious daughter, Emily, and can only hope that, through this choice, she can guide them towards something brighter.

Empress Jessamine Kaldwin takes the Outsider’s hand. It is frigid and burns at her, and she can feel his bones beneath his skin, if it is even skin at all.

It is some months before she sees her Corvo again, though time now holds no meaning to her. His skin is pale, eyes haunted, his body scarred. Regardless, he is still the determined, driven man she has always known him to be. Even like this, she loves him, and knows that he will find Emily, will right the wrongs that have been done.

Until that time, she will guide him. She will tell him the truth as she sees.

_This place is the end of all things. And the beginning. All of time is meaningless here. Neither seconds nor centuries. Someday this place will devour all the lights in the sky._

_The one who walks here is all things. Cradle songs of comfort and bones gnawed by teeth. This is the place from which those who dabble in the black arts draw their power._

_And this place is their doom._


End file.
